i loved you then and i love you now
by singsongsung
Summary: The year is 2019. Two of New York's most prestigious private schools, Constance Billard and St. Jude's, are hosting a 10 year reunion for the class of 2009. DS, CB, NS, DB.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I don't post a lot here anymore, but this will probably be the last multi-chapter Gossip Girl fic I begin, so I figured - why not? I started this ages and did some editing to incorporate the events of 5x24. This fic is set in the future and ships will vary and change. Much of the other fic I've been writing lately can be found on my fic livejournal, ampersandstars(dot)livejournal(dot)com, if you're interested. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**prologue.**

_i just have one more question:  
will it be my heart, or will it be his?  
_(city and colour, comin' home)

The year is 2019. Two of New York's most prestigious private schools, Constance Billard and St. Jude's, are hosting a 10 year reunion for the class of 2009. The guest list includes Blair Waldorf, owner of the prestigious Waldorf Designs, and her fiancé, Charles Bass, the head of the business empire that was founded by his father. Author of two best-selling novels and professor of literature Daniel Humphrey is also expected attend, along with his wife, (in)famous wedding photographer Serena van der Woodsen. NYC's second-most eligible bachelor, newly-elected Congressman Nathaniel Archibald, is expected to attend alone, though it is rumoured that socialite Penelope Shafai offered to be his plus-one.

The days of Gossip Girl ended ages ago, but it appears that the anonymous blogger is back with one last round of gossip - secrets from years before, secrets that were carefully buried, secrets that will turn their lives upside down.

* * *

**one.**

Serena never quite knows what to do with herself when she's the first one home. It doesn't happen often, not on week days, and she doesn't really know what to do on an August afternoon in the suburbs.

It still seems foreign to her, sometimes, living in the 'burbs. It's technically a village, as her neighbours like to remind her whenever she slips up, but Cayuga Heights _feels_ like a suburb, no matter what its official title is. She likes it on the weekends, snowmen in the winter and flowers blooming in spring, but during the week, she spends most of her time commuting to the city or elsewhere in the state. She drives now, has her own car and her own license and has a _need_ for them - something she didn't expect would happen in her life when she was younger.

There are a lot of _wives_ on her block, wives in the Stepford sense, wives that tend to gardens and drive kids to soccer and sip margaritas on their porches. Most of them are older than her; they're friendly, but they're not her friends.

She's only really close to the couple who lives two doors down, Louisa and Jessie, married two years with an adopted baby boy from Ethiopia. Louisa works in Dan's department, which was originally how they'd all met, and Serena likes her a lot, thinks she's softspoken and kind and that she makes amazing banana bread. Still, it was Jessie that Serena had really bonded with. Jessie would make coffee in the bizarrely complicated machine that dominated the kitchen counter and she and Serena would sit at the table and talk, talk about travelling, talk about their childhoods, talk about spouses who correct your grammar over dinner. Jessie wasn't a Blair substitute - no one was - but she was the closest friend Serena had made since moving to Ithaca.

Things had been different, though, since baby James had arrived. It made sense, because Jessie and Louisa were busy adjusting to motherhood. It made sense, because Serena's been keeping her distance - just for a while. Just to adjust, to let them adjust.

She's contemplating whether or not she actually wants to give daytime television a try when the front door opens and a voice calls, "_Daddy!_"

Serena starts a little - it's three o'clock already.

Trixie rushes into the living room in her bare feet, a red scrape on one of her knees and a beaming smile on her face. One of the sleeves on her school shirt is rolled up, one isn't. "Mommy! You're here!"

"I am," Serena says with a smile of her own, getting up off the couch. "Daddy had to work a little later today..." She touches a hand to the top of her daughter's head. "What happened to your knee, baby?"

"I tripped," Trixie shrugs, tipping her head back, brown hair falling out of her braid. "I didn't cry, though!"

"That was very brave of you," Serena says seriously. "We're still going to have to clean that cut up, though..." She glances down the hall. "Where did you leave your sister?"

"Taking off her shoes," Trixie says easily, slipping her little hand into Serena's as they walk toward the door together. "She's slower than me."

"If you were a little slower, you might not fall and hurt yourself," Serena points out gently, giving her daughter's hand a little squeeze.

The front door is wide open. Lucy is standing next to it, nudging her shoes into a neat line on the mat. "Mommy, hi!" she says brightly.

"Hey, Luce," Serena greets her fondly. She waves at the van parked in their driveway; Melody and Aaron down the block have kids their age and they carpool, switching drivers each week.

"You're here instead of Daddy," Lucy points out, wrapping her arms around Serena's legs.

"You say it like I'm never here, baby."

Lucy shrugs. "After school it's Daddy or you _and_ Daddy. Mostly."

"I guess that's true," Serena nods, bending to press a kiss to the top of her head. Her schedule fluctuates far more than Dan's does, so they'd arranged it this way - he's always done lecturing in time to pick the girls up from school.

Lucy pulls back after a moment. She looks just like she did when she was sent off to school in the morning: her hair neatly brushed and braided, her skirt unwrinkled, her shirt sleeves buttoned at her wrists. She giggles after a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Serena scrunches up her nose, makes a face. "Because I love you, Luce," she says easily before turning to Trixie. "Come on. Let's clean up that knee and we can talk about what we want for a snack."

"Mommy, no," Trixie pouts. "It's going to hurt."

"But you were so brave when you fell," Serena says coaxingly, steering both girls toward the downstairs washroom. "You can be brave again..."

"I would've cried," Lucy nods. "But you didn't."

Serena smiles softly at Lucy, steers Trixie to sit on the side of the bathtub. "It'll only sting for a minute, sweetie," she soothes. "Lucy will hold your hand; won't you, Luce?"

Lucy nods, happy to be given a job, and sits next to her sister, takes her hand. "Can we have applesauce? For a snack? And crackers."

"Sure," Serena says absently, pulling out the first aid kit. "What do you think, Trix, does that sound good?"

Trixie nods, biting her lip apprehensively.

"It'll be fine," Serena promises her as she kneels down in front of them. "Just a little sting..."

Trixie nods again, takes a deep breath, and squeezes her eyes shut. Instinctively, Lucy does too.

Serena sits back on her heels and just looks at them for a minute, her little girls. They're identical, completely, and it's always impossible for strangers to tell them apart. When they were born, she'd memorized the heart-shape birthmark on the bottom of Trixie's foot obsessively, terrified that she wouldn't be able to tell her own babies apart.

But the differences had been there right from the beginning. Trixie had wailed as a newborn, Lucy had whimpered a little and been quiet after that. Trixie woke them up more often in the middle of the night, demanded attention more frequently, was eager to hold her own bottle and get on her own feet. Lucy did everything more slowly, more carefully - she liked to be held for longer, liked to be cuddled, worried at the thought of independence. The only first she preceded Trixie to was speaking; she said _mama_ two weeks earlier. The differences expanded as they grew older, as they turned into their own little people with distinct personalities, so like one another and yet such opposites in some respects.

Serena can pinpoint every minute difference between her daughters, every similarity, too, but the simplest way to put it is this: Trixie is like her, and Lucy is just like Dan.

* * *

"You're not listening to me."

He snaps back to attention, his eyes settling on his fiancee's face - and realizing then that she's angry with him. "I'm sorry," he says earnestly, brushing her hair back from her face, tucking a lock of it behind her ear. "I'm listening now."

Her jaw is set; she won't forgive him easily. "I'm trying to plan _our_ wedding. The least you could do is pay attention."

"I am paying attention," he sighs. "But you've had your wedding planned since you were a little girl. I thought you knew exactly what you wanted."

"My groom was supposed to be interested in our wedding," she huffs.

"You're groom was supposed to be Nate," he volleys back.

She glares, huffs, "_Chuck_."

"It's true, Blair," he sighs.

"It's irrelevant," she corrects. "I said yes to _your_ proposal."

"The second time," he murmurs.

She glares at him, snaps, "_Chuck_," in a way that isn't playful in the slightest, and he remembers agreeing with their therapist that the past was to be worked through and then left behind.

"Sorry," he mumbles, glancing back at his newspaper wistfully.

"Would you prefer that I just plan this entire wedding while all you have to do is show up on the day?" she asks tightly.

"No," he sighs. "Of course not."

"This has to be my perfect wedding," she says softly, seriously. "You _know_ what a disaster my last one was."

"Hm," he murmurs, sympathetic but vague, because he doesn't know, not entirely - she's never really told him about it, about how it had been for her.

She sighs, setting the seating chart in front of this. "Look at this," she says firmly, before dialling the caterer's number.

"You're bossy today," he comments, smirking over at her, but she's already absorbed in her phone call.

* * *

Nate walks back into his townhouse just in time to hear his phone ringing, and he grabs it quickly, still breathless from his run as he answers, "Hello?"

"Well, hello, stranger," a familiar voice says in his ear.

He grins, laughing a little. "Hey, Penny, what's up?"

She heaves a small sigh, the way she always does when he calls her that. "Your publicist called me this morning...early this morning."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, moving toward the fridge and taking the orange juice out, drinking a gulp right out of the carton.

"She wanted to know if I would be attending our high school reunion with you," she says. "I had to tell her that I didn't know."

He chuckles. "Can't say I'm surprised. Annabeth loves you, she's always pushing for me to propose."

"Oh?" Penelope asks, a prim hint of curiosity in her voice. "I thought you were playing up your bachelor image at the moment."

"I am, I guess. But Annabeth thinks it's important for me to _settle down_," he says with a small role of his eyes. "In a year or two."

"You're supposed to date for at least three years before you propose," she tells him blithely. "Everyone knows that."

He laughs. "Oh, everyone knows that, huh?"

"They do," she insists. "And while you _know_ that I enjoy being your occasional arm candy...I wouldn't be opposed."

"I know," he says more softly, sobering. "I do, but really...it's not you, honestly, I would just...I don't think I'm the guy you want to marry."

"It is you, then," she points out. "If you think that."

He sighs. "Got me there."

"Let me know," she says briskly. "About the reunion." She smacks her lips by the phone and then hangs up before he can even say goodbye.

Nate sets down his phone and gets out the cereal instead. It nags at him sometimes, this thing he's doing with Penelope. They have fun together, more fun than he ever imagined they could, if he's being honest, but there's an odd imbalance in their relationship. He knows how she feels about him, what she wants from him, an heirloom ring and his last name, and it wouldn't be fair to keep letting her want those things if he didn't want them at all.

He is, however, entirely unsure about what he wants. Much of what he's done in the past few years has been chosen for him: Tripp ran for senator and Grandfather had lured him into the race for congressman before he'd really realized what it meant for him, what he'd agreed to. It was a surprise to be elected and he's proud of it, he thinks he's good at his job - he tries to be, anyway.

But it all feels so planned, so perfectly laid out by others. He knows - he's always known - that Penelope could fit into this picture easily. Her parents are wealthy and she's been a consistently classy socialite, no party pictures or scandals in her past. They photograph well together and he knows that she could easily be his wife, could easily organize charities and head committees. But he also knows that her feelings for him are genuine, and he can't exploit that.

He could marry her so easily. They could leak pictures of the two of them doing the things couples do - getting lunch, holding hands, going to the opera - and it would come out as news, their official relationship. He could probably only wait two years before popping the question, and there's no question of what her answer would be. The wedding would be elaborate, her gown gorgeous, the guest list expansive, and their picture would be on Page Six. It would be the easiest thing.

It nags at him, though, the idea that this isn't the life he chose for himself. Marrying Penelope would be like marrying Blair would have been once upon a time; perfect, approved by his family, approved by his constituents.

He pours milk into his cereal, thinks that he was never sure if he wanted that, if he wanted the perfect life, the perfect wife.

The milk splashes over the edge of his bowl, pooling on the counter, and he sighs, staring at it for a beat.

There was a time when he'd wanted much more of a mess.

* * *

It is eerily quiet in the penthouse at night.

Blair's not sure where Chuck is at this hour; perhaps it's a meeting running late, or maybe he went to get drinks with his associates. He would have told her, if she'd asked, but she doesn't ask much anymore.

This is her home now, the Penthouse suite of the Empire Hotel. It isn't their only house - they have a residence in Paris not too far from her mother and Cyrus, as well as house for vacationing in Ibiza, but officially, this is their home.

It still feels like Chuck's suite most of the time, even though she's been living here since they got engaged. They're both so busy; the tabloids call them a power couple but in reality they're a couple with very little time on their hands. Chuck is busy with business in Amercia during the day and business on other continents at night, and Blair is busy with phone calls from Paris and Milan at all hours and, for the last sixteen months, wedding planning.

She wanted to get married in December at first; she had visions of snowflakes drifting slowly from the sky, of a small, chic jacket to wear over her gown. But those were the visions of her childhood, visions that included Nate, visions that she'd left behind long ago. She decided on October instead, the eighth, hoping that it would be a day of orange leaves and bright skies, completely different from her childhood fantasies, completely different from the nightmare her wedding to Louis had turned out to be.

Everything is set for the day. The invitations have been mailed out, her father and Cyrus have agreed to walk her down the aisle, and the menu has been chosen. Penelope will be her maid of honour, Nate will be the best man, and she'd decided against other bridesmaids and groomsmen. It will be perfect, she's determined to make it so.

In the empty, quiet penthouse, in a bedroom half-lit by a sole bedside lamp, Blair takes off her dress, laying it neatly in the pile to be sent for dry-cleaning. She sets her shoes back into her closet and unhooks her bra, tosses it carelessly on a chair. She studies her reflection in the floor length mirror, pressing a palm against her flat stomach for a beat and then turning to the side to inspect her profile critically. A few locks of her hair tumble out of her carefully constructed chignon and over her shoulders.

She moves away from the mirror after a few moments, going back to her closet and taking out the wedding dress that is tucked carefully into the very back, out of sight. She takes it off of its hanger gingerly and steps into it. She pulls it up carefully, settling the bodice around her breasts, smoothing the fabric of her hips, before she reaches around herself to zip it up.

She can't quite get the zipper done up completely, but that's alright, for now; it's almost a perfect picture. She pins the flyaway strands of her hair up again and stares at herself in the mirror. She envisions a bouquet, and a smile. She imagines that Penelope is there, holding the train of her dress. She thinks of the way her father will smile, of the way Cyrus will hug her. She thinks, hopes, wishes, that Chuck will tell her that she's beautiful.

"I do," she says aloud, softly, into the empty air of the penthouse.

The words don't seem to take up any room at all.

* * *

"Hey," Dan murmurs from the doorway. He huffs a quiet laugh a beat later, says softly, "I go away for two days and they took over my side of the bed..."

Serena glances up from the wedding magazine she's browsing through idly, smiling briefly at him before looking down at their daughters, curled up and fast asleep on his side of the bed. "You know I suck at being bad cop," she murmurs. "And they missed you."

His eyebrows lift. "Is that the party line? You missed me, too?"

Her smile stretches a little. "I did..."

He smiles back at her, moving around the bed to her side of it and touching her cheek, tilting her mouth against his for a kiss. "I missed you, too."

Serena smiles at him, soft and genuine, and he brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. "Really?" she asks quietly.

"It's impossible not to miss you," he says easily, the words light. He kisses her again. "You're the most missable person I know," he murmurs to her. "Besides..." He tilts his head toward the girls. "Those two."

Serena's eyes flicker over his face, searching for something, though he's not sure what. "I love you," she whispers.

"Come here," he whispers back, taking her hands in both of his, pulling her up out of bed.

Two minutes later they're in the bathroom, the door locked behind them, and she's perched on the counter, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, breathing his name against his teeth as he pushes the hem of her nightgown up around her hips, and he forgets to ask her about the invitations he'd seen sitting on the kitchen counter.

* * *

**tbc.**


	2. Chapter 2

**two.**

* * *

She's reading when he comes home, legs tucked beneath herself in bed, nose tucked into a book. It's a strangely startling sight; he hasn't seen Blair read in a while.

He's used to her being awake when he gets home. She doesn't sleep much without him, doesn't sleep much at all, and he thinks that she likes to know what time he gets home, likes to look at him, searching for alcohol on his breath or perfume clinging to his coat. They don't talk much when he gets home, but he's used to seeing her awake. She's usually reading a magazine or the newspaper, studying china patterns for the wedding, examining an endless array of photographs of flower arrangements. He is not, however, used to seeing her with her nose buried in a book.

That's what prompts him to ask, "What are you reading?"

Her head snaps up and the book falls closed. "Nothing," she says softly. "Where have you been?"

"Meeting," he sighs, undoing his tie. "You know how it is."

"Yes," Blair murmurs. "Of course."

"You're up late," he tells her.

"So are you," she says quietly, perfectly still in their bed, looking small and strangely fragile in their king-sized bed, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

"Suppose so," he nods, taking off his shoes before he moves toward her. "You look beautiful," he says, sitting next to her slowly, sinking into the mattress slightly. "Even at this hour…"

She sets her eyes on his face. "What's so special about this hour?"

"This," he says, leaning in to kiss her.

They are much different than they used to be. He misses the versions of Blair he used to have, Blair dancing in front of him, in his limo with her arms snaking around him slowly; Blair in beautiful dresses, kissing him politely before a party and yanking him into bed afterward by his tie; Blair and the quiet gleam of happiness in her eyes the first time he'd ever told her that he loved her. He misses the Blair that kissed him back fiercely, kissed him like they were in a movie montage, kissed him like she _wanted_ to.

Now, she stays still against him, accepting his kiss and only returning it with the slightest bit of pressure.

"I can't wait to marry you," he tells her as they shift on the bed; she sinks back against the pillows and he stretches out over her. "I love – "

She kisses him purposefully for the first time in days, a _shut up_ kiss if there ever was one.

* * *

Dan wakes up in the morning to the sound of little-girl giggles, a sound that makes him smile instinctively as he sits up on the couch. He and Serena had slept there, tangled together, her head on his chest, and left their daughters in their bed for the night. He's alone there now, and when he looks toward the kitchen he sees the twins sitting on stools at the island, Serena leaning her elbows on it across from them, smiling fondly at them as she sips coffee from a mug, his bathrobe on, untied over her pyjamas.

"Can we go to the park?" Trixie asks eagerly around a mouthful of Cheerios. "When Daddy wakes up?"

"Daddy's awake," Dan tells her lightly as he gets up and moves toward them, dropping kisses on each of his daughter's heads.

Trixie beams. "Let's go the park!"

"You have to finish your breakfast first, honey," he tells her gently, smoothing her tangled hair. "Hey," he murmurs then, glancing over at Serena.

"Hey," she replies softly, and they lean across the island to kiss each other.

"Ew," Trixie says, and Lucy giggles.

"We're going to the park," Serena says lightly. "Apparently."

Dan nods easily, stealing her mug of coffee and taking a sip. He winces as he swallows; he always manages to forget that she fills her coffee with more sugar than he can handle. "That's good…I like the park."

"I'm done," Lucy announces, setting her spoon down in her bowl neatly and looking up at them eagerly.

"Alright, baby," Serena tells her gently. "You can go get dressed…don't forget socks."

"Me too," Trixie says eagerly, dropping her spoon on the countertop and slipping off of her chair, rushing away.

Serena watches them run off, a little smile on her lips, before she glances back at Dan. "There's more coffee in the pot, babe," she tells him softly, easily.

"Thanks," he says, looping an arm loosely around her waist as he moves by her, pulling her into a soft, brief kiss.

She twines her arms around his neck, keeping him close. "You didn't tell me how your conference was…"

"We were kind of busy last night," he says softly, giving her a small smile.

She smiles back, says, "Tell me now."

"It was…" He shrugs. "Conference-y." He gives her a quick squeeze before he lets her go, moving to get a mug so he can pour himself some coffee. "You should get dressed…they'll want to go to the park in about five minutes."

"They can wait," she says quietly, and he can feel the weight of her gaze on his face.

He smiles over at her, searching her eyes for a beat. "They won't, though," he laughs lightly. "They get that from you."

She makes a face at him, but it only lasts for a moment before she sobers again. "I just – "

He takes a long drink of coffee. "You just what?"

"Nothing," she says quietly.

Dan sighs. "Serena, don't do that."

"_I'm_ not doing anything," she murmurs. "You are."

He inhales and exhales, slow and measured. "Honey, I just got back," he says calmly. "Let's not fight," he adds, lamely. It's not so much that _they_ fight, though; it's more that Dan fights while Serena stays quiet, her words soft when she says them and her eyes dark, unreadable. They haven't fought in years, not the way they used to, not since they were married.

Serena's teeth dig into her bottom lip.

And he sighs again. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, Dan," she says quietly, moving past him to set her mug in the sink. "You're just…not talking to me."

He frowns. "I'm talking to you right now."

"You know what I mean," she says quietly. "I just asked you how your conference went and you won't even tell me."

"Why would I bore you by talking about a lit conference?"

"Bore me?" she echoes, a little scoff following the words. "Say what you really mean."

"Okay, fine," he huffs. "Tell me what I really mean to say, because I have no idea."

"You mean that I won't _get_ it," she says, tying his robe closed over her pyjamas. "That I can't understand whatever you talked about at your conference, so why _bother_."

"That – I never said that, Serena."

"No," she says softly, "Exactly. You never say anything."

"I'm…sorry. I'll tell you all the boring details, if you want."

"No, it's…never mind," she murmurs. "You're right, we should get dressed."

"Serena," he sighs.

"You're right, Dan," she says firmly, and then she's smiling at him, this sunny thing that doesn't reach her eyes. "They'll want to go right away."

"Yeah," he says quietly, watching her move down the hall. "I guess they will."

* * *

Blair wakes up first in the morning; she wakes up first every morning. She slips out of bed the way she always does, lifting the arm Chuck has slung heavily over her middle with careful fingers and rolling out from underneath it, getting off of the bed without jostling the mattress.

She goes into the kitchen and begins her breakfast routine: she cuts a grapefruit precisely in half and sets one half of it on a plate along with five green grapes, toasts a single piece of bread, spreads a small amount of butter on it, cuts it into fourths and tosses three of them away, setting the remaining one on a plate. She takes a tall glass from the cupboard and fills it halfway with skim milk. Then she carries both the plate and the glass into the dining room and sits down at the table.

It takes her almost an hour to eat her small feel, nibbling and sipping between sending e-mails to the branches of Waldorf designs in Europe and corresponding with her wedding planner.

By the time she gets to the morning mail, she has two grapes and a few sips of milk left. There are the usual things: Chuck's preferred newspaper, her preferred newspaper, RSVPs to the wedding. Two of the envelopes look unlike the other; they're not the black-and-white patterned RSVP envelopes; instead, they are an off-white, addressed individually to Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf rather than to _Chuck & Blair_ like the wedding RSVP envelopes are.

She sets the one addressed to Chuck aside and then opens her own, sliding her letter opener neatly into the seam of the envelope.

_Dear Blair_, it begins, and goes on to invite her to the ten-year reunion of the graduating class of 2009 from Constance Billard and St. Jude's schools.

She stares at it, unblinking. Her immediate instinct is to throw it away. She doesn't want to go. But she knows, half a second later, that she _has_ to go, that she really has no reason _not_ to. She has everything: a wealthy fiancé who buys her jewellery every week, a position at the head of a prestigious company, an enviable wardrobe, a slew of assistants, and an upcoming wedding. She isn't missing anything. She has it all, and logically, she should show it off. She should be proud of this, of who she is, of what she's become.

"Good morning," Chuck murmurs from the doorway of the room, and she starts a little, glancing up – she's usually finished her breakfast by the time he's awake, has usually put on her makeup and chosen a dress and settled in the living room or left the penthouse altogether.

"Good morning," she echoes, mutedly. "You're up early…?"

"I have an early meeting," he explains, bending to kiss the top of her head. "I'm going to order breakfast up, do you want anything?"

"No, no, I ate…" She hands him his invitation. "This came for you."

He glances at it before he takes it from her, ripping into the envelope; Blair winces, wishes that he'd use her letter opener and do it neatly instead.

"Hmm," he murmurs. "Ten year reunion."

"We don't have to go," Blair murmurs. "I know that your schedule's busy, so we don't have to – "

"No, no…of course we can go. You want to, don't you?"

She constructs a careful smile. "Of course I do."

He nods briskly. "So we'll make time." He touches her cheeks, smoothing her skin. "You'll RSVP for both of us?"

Blair nods, too. "Don't I always?"

"You do." He leans down, touching a brief kiss to her lips. "Find something delectable to wear…"

She kisses him back. "Don't I always?" she asks again, arching her eyebrows.

Chuck nods, reaching for his newspaper as he sits next to her. "You do."

It's a clear sign that the conversation is over when he opens his newspaper, and she sighs very softly, looking down at her own invitation.

* * *

Nate lifts his head up from his pillow slightly, squinting in the sunlight. He half-smiles, still sleepy. "Are you running out on me?"

Penelope smiles at him over her shoulder. "What would people say if they saw me leaving in last night's clothes?"

"Hmm…" He lets his head fall back against his pillow. "We can get you new clothes…or no clothes…"

"I have a luncheon," she murmurs.

"It's like six in the morning, Pen…luncheons don't happen until _lunch_."

"I have to get _ready_ for it, Nate, I have a speech," she says, moving closer to the bed so that she can collect her bracelet and earrings from the bedside table.

He reaches out, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her back into bed.

"Nate!" she says in protest, frowning as he pulls her closer. "You'll wrinkle me…"

"I'll wrinkle you?" he repeats on a laugh.

"My dress, I mean."

He stretches up to kiss her little frown. "You're you…" He just kisses her for a moment. "You don't wear the same dress to another even the next day…"

She sighs against his mouth. "You have to pay for my dry-cleaning, Congressman," she murmurs.

"Done," he says easily, laying back against the pillows and tugging her with him.

"We've been breaking this rule a lot lately," she points out. "The no-sleeping-over rule…"

He slides the zipper of her dress undone again, trailing fingers against her spine, and shrugs a little. "I like you in the morning," he says simply, and it's true – he likes her a lot like this, without the perfect makeup, with her hair tied up haphazardly atop her head, with her smile soft and unpracticed and genuine.

"Not the rest of the time?" she asks lightly, eyebrows tilting upward.

"All of the time," he promises, tilting her into the pillows, pressing kisses against her neck. "Just _especially_ in the morning."

"What about the fundraiser for sloths in the rain forest next month?" she asks, smoothing a hand idly over his back. "Do you like me there?"

He smiles against her skin. "Could love you there, yeah…"

"And what about the reunion at Constance?"

He lifts his head, shifting so that he's laying over her, his forearms dropped on either side of her head. "Are we role-playing now? You're being my publicist?"

Penelope pouts. "Are you thinking about Annabeth right now?"

"Are you thinking about my social calendar right now?" he volleys back gently, kissing her in the hopes of distracting her.

"I'm just wondering," she says. "You're going, aren't you?"

"Are you kidding?" he says, breathing out a laugh. "Annabeth would never let me _not_ go."

"Alright," Penelope says. "So you're going and I'm going…"

"So why not go together?" he asks wryly.

One of her eyebrows arcs impressively. "Exactly."

Nate sighs. "It just…it's our high school reunion."

"I'm aware, yes."

"And if we go together it feels like…making a statement."

"Making statements is your job," she murmurs.

He laughs, nudging a quick kiss against her mouth. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"What kind of statement are you so worried about making?" she asks, her tone even and light, but her eyes are solemn – it's a serious question.

So he smiles at her. "You really want me to be your arm candy, don't you?"

She rolls her eyes, swats at his shoulder. "Nate…"

"It's important to you?" he asks more quietly, more seriously.

She shrugs.

And he smiles, putting a kiss to her mouth. "Be my date," he says. "For the reunion."

She smiles against his mouth and then presses into the kiss, pleased but trying to hide it. "Hm, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Serena glances up from her book when Dan's shadow falls across the pages. "Were you banished?" she asks lightly, looking up at him.

"Yeah," he says on a soft laugh, sitting down on the bench next to her. "They want to play their _own_ game, apparently…" He looks over at her. "They promised no monkey bars without me there."

She smiles a little, letting her book fall closed. "Thank you."

He glances down at her lap, at the book. "Fitzgerald," he murmurs. "Cheerful reading for a cheerful day?" he teases.

"Good book for a good day," she corrects, glancing out into the playground, locating her daughters.

"That's a pretty good philosophy," Dan says. After a moment, his arm slides around her shoulders and she shifts a little to snuggle against his side, tilting her cheek against his shoulder. He touches a kiss to her forehead. "Haven't done this in a while," he murmurs.

"We've been busy," she says softly, which is true. "I missed this."

He holds her a little closer. "Me too."

She sighs after a moment, her eyes tracking Lucy and Trixie as they rush around the playground.

Dan kisses her forehead again. "What is it?"

_Nothing_ is on the tip of her tongue, but when he asks her like that, soft and gentle and just _Dan_, she can't help but tell him the truth. "I just can't believe…how big they are. Already."

"Hm, I know," he says softly. "They turned out…amazingly."

"Yeah," she whispers a little wistfully. "They're perfect."

Dan's quiet for a long moment and then he asks her, "You want another one?"

"What?" she asks softly, not moving.

He rubs at her arm. "A baby."

"A baby," she echoes.

"We could do it…your job has flexible hours and we have the money and the space and I could take a sabbatical to stay home for a year…"

"You want a baby?" she asks softly. They've never had this conversation before – the twins were conceived in the aftermath of a fight, completely and totally unplanned; seven weeks later Dan found her crying in the bathroom over a pregnancy test and asked her to marry him.

"Do you?" he asks, just as softly. "I thought – I mean, I see the way you look at Jessie and Lou's baby sometimes, and I know the girls are growing up fast and we're still…young."

She shifts then, lifting her head so that she can kiss him, long and slow and deep. "Time flies," she murmurs when they break apart.

He nods, and she can see in his eyes that he understands – that the subject needs to be put to rest for now, so that she can think about it.

"Speaking of time flying," he says, combing his fingers through her hair idly. "I saw those invitations to the reunion."

"Oh?" she asks him softly. She hadn't hidden them but she hadn't spoken about them either, she'd left that decision to him.

"Yeah," he says as she rests her cheek back against his shoulder. "You want to go?"

"Do _you_? I thought you didn't want to go back to the city."

"I don't, not really," he concedes. "But I know my dad would really love to see the girls, and I thought maybe…you'd want to go."

"It doesn't matter to me, really," she murmurs.

He rubs at her arm. "Do you not want to go…because of your mom?"

She goes still against him. "Why would you think…"

"Just because…the last time we were in Manhattan was for the funeral," he says softly, pressing kisses into his hair, and she knows that he's not trying to upset her.

"No," she says very quietly. "That's not why."

"Let's go, okay?" he murmurs. "See my dad, see Eric, show the girls where we went to school…let's have a happy memory there."

"Okay," she murmurs, turning her face into his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat.

Dan's other arm comes around her, too, giving her a proper hug. He rubs her back in slow, soothing circles. "I love you," he tells her, soft and serious.

She thinks of that bathroom and that incriminating little pregnancy test, the panic thrumming in her chest and the tears drying on her cheeks, thinks of Dan on the floor next to her, thinks of his voice, saying those same words in that same way.

It seems so rare, now – him saying it first.

* * *

**tbc.**


End file.
